


A Parting Gift

by casstayinmyass



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Masturbation, Ritual Sex, Spirits, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26637601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Taking something Papa had given you before his untimely demise, you visit a temple that you both liked to call your own to perform a carnal ritual that awakens the object of your grief.AKAGhost!Papa watches you touch yourself and helps you along.
Relationships: Papa Emeritus III/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	A Parting Gift

It's 3 in the morning; the witching hour, and the order of your Papa's succession. You hold the phallic object beneath your cloak as you head to the altar out in the woods that only you and your dearly departed Papa knew about. You clutch the toy tighter to you, huddling into the cloak to keep yourself from the night air. It was typical that his last gift to you ever had been this. In your defense, neither of you had known it would be his last, and it only made you miss him more when you took it in hand. Tonight, you would finally use it for the first time: a mold of his cock he had had made for you. A ritual of sorts, to cleanse yourself of the pain you feel when you think of him. He would want to be remembered and celebrated through something like this—in fact, he loved celebration of any kind. It wouldn’t surprise you if Papa attended his own funeral.

You approach the small temple, hidden away in the trees. Sigils carved by ancient clergymen (and a few by you and Papa) welcome you on the door, and you press a hand to it. You can almost feel the energy running through the crumbling stone. Papa always used to hold this door open for you like a gentleman, helping you with his hand over the stone rubble leading up to it. 

It had been a month since the incident, but it was still fresh in your mind as you’re sure it forever will be. Fighting back tears, you enter the temple. It's pitch dark and you can't see an inch in front of your face, but it’s a comforting feeling of getting lost in an abyss of memories, amorous encounters, and shared moments of worship. Nothing about this place could ever scare you, especially when it smells faintly of him, still— a musky perfumed aftershave and the hint of incense smoke. These scents had mixed with the natural environment, which smelled of soil and rainwater that had seeped in between the stones the temple was built out of. You smile for the first time in a month. 

Striding to the corner of the room, you let your pack slide down your shoulder and take your hood down. You had had to smuggle a few items from the chapel with you today, and wear your cloak to make it out here undetected-- you didn't have Papa to make excuses for you any longer.

You set the incense stick in the holder, and strike a match off the ground. Thankfully, the ground isn't wet-- a blazing flame lights up your peripherals for a moment, until you light the end of the incense and you shake the match out. Breathing the frankinsence in deeply, you rise and take the rest of your things over to the middle of the room. With practiced ease, you set up the ring of black pillar candles around the center of the room, and light another match. The light grows as the wind howls outside, each candle brightening the temple a little bit more until the circle is complete. You look around at the sigils on the walls, and the two handprints in dried blood ahead of you. Your heart aches.

Candles flicker and dance as you drop your cloak, revealing all of yourself. You had left the habit back in your dorm. Your hand slides down to cup your breast gently as you take a ginger step inside the circle of candlelight. Bowing your head, you recite a prayer to the Olde One, then look down at the toy you had brought. Papa had given it to you one night while the two of you were play fighting. He never had a chance to use it on you, but tonight, you would imagine it was him. It would feel like him.

Setting the sleek black toy beneath you, you rest on your knees and tilt your head back. The tip goes in smoothly, the slickness of your heat making it easier to slide all the way down onto it. You alternate between fitting the toy properly inside of you and moving your fingers up to rub your tingling bud. The deeper the phallus moves inside of you, the more overwhelming the sensation grows—it feels exactly like him. Once the toy had been accommodated, you reach back into the bag, and pull out a small knife. With this knife, you cut a small X above your breasts, collecting the blood and drawing a line down to your navel and back up. Dipping again into the bleeding laceration, you draw a line the other way across, making an inverted cross. You rock down harder onto the toy, visualizing the love you have for the departed.

The pain is gone, and the pleasure is immediate. The stretch of Papa’s silicone shape deep inside of you pulsing with your arousal awakens every sense in your body. You can hear every little snap in the woods around you, see every flicker in the candles through your closed eyelids, smell the metallic blood dripping between your breasts and taste Papa's lips on yours as if he was there with you. Hypersensitivity to all of this only heightens your pleasure.

"My Papa," you sigh. The flames flicker. The need grows. You roll your hips down, arching your back and riding the toy with a passion you only ever showed your Papa. You feel your eyes tear up again, but you refuse to let the drops fall. Tonight you were with him. _For a moment, you almost believe that._

Your cunt clenches around the toy, and you ride it harder, hips gliding effortlessly down as you imagine, clearly, it's him. He's beneath you. He's whispering your name. He's holding both your hands, telling you what he'll do to ravage your body as you drag your slick down onto him, both of you bare to one another as the day you were created.

"Please," you sigh. Your toes dig into the stone floor, almost painfully. Your lips close as your head rolls around to hang forward. After a second, you begin to notice something. The temperature in the air is dropping. Your nipples are peaked, and a shiver runs through you as you feel as if there are a billion eyes on you at once. A candle goes out. Then another. You watch in apprehension as each one dances and flickers out until there's one single flame left burning in front of you; it’s about to go out, and you reach for it just before that one extinguishes too. Your eyes adjust to the darkness, but something moves within it—the darkness seems to slither around you, as black smoke rises from the candles and threatens to stifle you. Within the fluid shadows, you look up shakily to make something out. Squinting, you realize it's a single white eye glaring down at you, glowing through the dark. A gasp escapes you, dread lighting your nerves at the sudden intrusion of whatever it could be. The candles all blast fire at once, brightening up the room brilliantly... to reveal Papa, standing in front of you in regal position.

_"Sorella."_

Your breath is stolen for a moment. You reach out to him in curiosity, but he disappears like smoke. You look at your hands, but feel a touch, light as a feather, on your back.

 _"Sorella,”_ he repeats. His drawling voice is familiar, yet steeped in a chillingly unnatural cadence resulting from his cross to the other side. _“I cannot give myself to you as I have before, but I feed from your energy. Continue, and the stronger you will feel my touch."_

You draw your arms around yourself, but hear the coo of his displeasure.

“Do not cover, per favore? Your Papa has missed seeing you so.” Recalling what he said about the sexual energy giving him power, you rock forward again, squeezing your walls around the toy. A soft sigh falls from your lips as the action restores the arousal that had been buried beneath the fear. Phantom hands move up to graze the back of your neck and an indescribable sensation of pleasure fills you. You gasp again as the hands move over your shoulders to cup your breasts. You watch the blood drip, and feel the touch of the dead as you rip another moan from yourself.

 _"Sorella,"_ Papa whispers again. It's as if his voice is reaching from miles away, but you can somehow hear it. _"Take me inside."_

"I need you," you whisper back to him, begging for something you know you can’t have.

 _"Listen to my voice and imagine it is me,"_ he speaks. You bite your lip, grinding down hard and starting to bounce. Your orgasm isn’t far away, not with his voice filling your ears. _“It is your Papa inside you, making you feel this way, hm? Making love to you. Fucking you. How I miss the feeling of your carnal flesh around my cock.”_

The spectral hands run down below your breasts to cover your stomach, running along your skin then around again to your back. Your cunt clenches the toy deep inside of you, and it’s almost as if Papa can feel it. His disembodied growl fills the temple, and you shudder as you feel the vibration of it climb up through your naked body.

 _“Beautiful,”_ he breathes, a frosty wind swirling around you. Urged on by his praise, you arch for him, displaying your breasts and the life force of your blood running down between them, the only thing keeping you warm.

“Yes,” you plead. Your thighs give out and you fall down onto your back, fucking yourself deeper with abandon. You let out a desperate whimper as you pound the toy inside you harder, feeling Papa’s essence envelop you as if it were his body on top of yours. Fingers tighten on your ankles, and you feel them climbing higher and higher as the delicious sound of your wetness fills the room. Goosebumps prickle your legs as Papa nears your centre. He used to love crawling up between them, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs before pleasuring you for hours. You can almost feel those kisses now.

The fingers tighten possessively on your thighs, and you feel a surge of heat run through you. Your orgasm kindles in the pit of your stomach, and builds as a low hum fills the room. The two of you are nearly as one, his spirit probing deep.

 _“Come now. Let your Papa see what he has so craved to touch.”_ You cry out, slamming yourself down. Your moans are caught inside the little temple like an echo chamber, and you can hear the belaboured sigh of Papa's freezing breath in your ear. A chill runs through you, but it's soon replaced by the heat that consumes you with your release. You tilt your head up and arch your back, moaning Papa's name and gasping when you feel the hands burn imprints into your skin.

You finally open your eyes to find that everything is normal again. No handprints left from his scorching touch. The candles are lit again, perfectly as before. The only thing that remains is the chill in the air. You try to keep the confidence you entered the temple with as you remove the toy, painted with your pleasure, and climb back up on your knees. You’re not above begging. 

"Don't leave me, Papa.” Your tears can’t lay dormant any longer; one is a catalyst for more as the emptiness fills you again.

 _"Shhh.”_ The sound wraps around you like a blanket. _“Do not cry for Papa, si? When you touch yourself, mi amore-- be it the smallest graze on your pretty face, or the heated roll of a hand where you need me most— know that I am with you. Mi mancherai sempre."_ You close your eyes, revelling in the sweet sinful energy of The Third for as long as you can feel it. When you can feel that he’s truly gone, you stand to close out the ritual. The haze of contentment over your body is a reminder that he never really left. 


End file.
